The Isle: Wrath
by relagon
Summary: Entry Log: Wrath, Date: REDACTED. One of the gravest mistakes that man can make is believing that revenge is an exclusively human concept. Warning: This account of the skirmish that occurred on AE blacksite 04 on REDACTED should serve as a lesson; the denizens of the Isle remember.
1. Chapter 1

**The Isle: Inferno**

**Part One**

The wind parted for them like a gathering of loyal subjects. Soaring through the sky, the aerial predators cast shadows over the lush, green canopy below. They scanned the primeval landscape for their prey. They were efficient, focused hunters, although they were more than capable of unleashing non-discriminating, chaotic carnage if they desired. But on this day they had a particular prey item in their sights, and nothing would distract them from their prize.

The denizens beneath the blanket of foliage momentarily put their never ending struggle for survival on pause upon hearing the whumping sound echo through the air, heralding the approach of the airborne hunters. Some creatures simply hid because of the unnatural, eerie nature of the sound, instilling within them with a sense of uncertainty; a primal fear of the unknown. Those more experienced in life, however, skulked away into the shadows with a different, much more nauseating fear crawling up their spines, and one just as primal. It was a fear born from previous experiences with the aerial creatures, and the parasites that travelled with them; experiences in past lives that had resulted in the crackling of skin, the popping of eyes from immense heat and the boiling of blood and organs inside their bodies.

Coursing through the creatures below, the fear of fire ensured that none rose to protest the passage of the hunters as they soared in search of their quarry.

…

The sunlight filtered through the mottled green ceiling of the forest, bathing the Alpha in a speckled, warm glow. The unevenness of the light complimented her skin pattern; a mixed blend of patterns consisting of shades of brown, tan and black. Even when resting and illuminated, she faded into her surroundings with unnerving ease, as did the rest of her pack. Eight strong and made up of four adults, two juveniles and two hatchlings, they were a successful group of predators, as evidenced by the half-eaten corpse of an adolescent crested herbivore splayed out in the centre of their clearing. The trumpeting herbivore had been the latest kill in a long string of successful hunts.

She looked to her growing family scattered around the open patch of forest, shielded from above by the outstretching branches of trees. The other three adults lay resting like her, digesting the hefty meal they had just enjoyed. The two juveniles played and bickered. She was more than content to let them continue; only issuing a warning hiss or bark when they became too raucous. They never challenged her word, dipping their heads briefly and calming in fear of upsetting their Alpha.

And playing on and around the pungent carcass were the packs most recent members. The two hatchlings explored every inch of their surroundings. Merely two weeks old, they had much to learn about the myriad of dangers present in their home. So, whenever she herself was not keeping an eye on the curious youngsters, one of her subordinates was. Even though they were her offspring, each pack member was as dedicated to ensuring their survival as she was. They were the future of the pack; the first individuals nested and bred by the Alpha. They hadn't awoken like the rest of them in the cold darkness.

It was not something that her mind attempted to question or understand. It was, unbeknownst to her, far from any natural method of birth. But to her, it had become as much a part of life as the rising sun. From the first moment she had been released into the primeval wilderness, she had had to fight for survival in an unforgiving landscape. She had not always succeeded.

So far, she had met five different ends. Yet she still always awoke in that dark chamber, with fragmented images and feelings from her previous life ingrained in her mind. It had allowed her to develop her skillset to the point where she was now a proficient survivor and predator in her environment; her survival and hunting instincts now honed to a keen point. After mastering those, she had then been able to amass a following. And having achieved that, the instinct to propagate her species had arisen.

She had chosen the stronger of her two male followers. He had proven to be a valuable ally in surviving the trials of the wilderness. He had experience, like her. He knew when to fight and when to retreat; knowledge gained from fatal mistakes, like her. He lay on the other side of the clearing, watching the two hatchlings as they investigated the dead beast. A branching stripe of tan-coloured skin ran down his back. However, whatever bond she shared with him was inconsequential when compared to the responsibility she felt to protecting her young.

The other two adults preened nearby. They had essentially become standby surrogate parents to her young, putting the lives of the offspring ahead of her own. It was the natural order of the pack hierarchy. They were forbidden from becoming a mated pair themselves. If they were to produce young of their own, the Alpha would not hesitate to kill their brood and possibly them.

But for the moment, her dominance remained unchallenged. The two juveniles they had assimilated into their ranks may indeed become more problematic as they grew, but she would worry about that situation at a later date should it arise. For the time being, each pack member shared a healthy sense of respect and fear of her and her rule, even her mate.

She raised her head. A scent on the wind had reached her senses. It was faint, but nevertheless present. While not as well developed as some of the other denizens of the island, she had a keen sense of smell, and it allowed her a view of the world hidden to some. She could pick out different animals by the faint traces of pheromones that travelled through the air. She had a library instilled into her mind of potential predators and prey, and the whiff she had just detected was just strong enough for a distinction to be made. The image of the horned runners entered her mind; creatures larger, faster and more powerful than her. Once before, she had fallen victim to the jaws of one such beast. They represented a clear and present threat to her and her pack, and it was not the first time that she had picked up their tell-tale stench on the air in the past couple of days.

She had suspected that the pack was being tailed, and it was a theory becoming more likely with each faint sign of their pursuers. A low, barely audible rumble emanated from her chest. In response, each of the three other adults raised their heads, alert and ready. The juveniles still tussled nearby, keeping relatively quiet, but obscuring her concentration. She let loose a growling hiss with more venom than the usual warning she gave them. They responded instantly, stepping back quickly from their playful skirmish and lowering themselves to the forest floor, heads down and feet shifting with unease.

She turned her attention back to the surrounding woods, panning her head slowly, scanning the foliage. Nothing moved in the green that presented an early sign of danger. The air still hummed with the living sounds of the forest. She inhaled deeply, trying to pick up on any other trace of the horned predators. But no further sign of danger showed itself. The surrounding forest seemed, by the standards of the inhumane wilderness, safe. But she was certain that danger was not far behind. She knew that the scent of their kill would already have travelled across the landscape. Flies buzzed around the shredded herbivore, and small flying creatures darted from the trees, momentarily landing on the cadaver to grab a toothy mouthful of flesh in their disproportionate jaws before retreating back through the air to the safety of the canopy. Larger creatures would almost certainly catch wind of the scent soon, if they hadn't done so already.

But as she looked around her, she calmed. Not only were they surrounded by a dense thicket of foliage, keeping out the larger denizens of the island, but they were also a strong pack. They had cornered the juvenile herbivore in the clearing and had brought it down with ease. They had tackled tougher and more lethal prey beforehand.

She issued a grumbling bark as she turned her head towards the other female, a distinctive command to keep an eye out for danger. Without hesitation, her subordinate pushed herself up onto her feet and moved towards the edge of the clearing and into the trees. For a few moments she was out of sight, before her head popped up above some of the smaller trees in the thicket. Each time they rested, they would pick a vantage point where the designated sentry at the time would assume watch. An elevated escarpment of moss-covered rock just beyond the tree line had been selected as the current spot. The female took watch with acute vigilance.

Drawing her eyes back to the hatchlings, she watched the oblivious speckled youngsters as they continued to investigate the environment around them with unfaltering interest. Their big, yellow eyes scanned each detail they could find. One, the male, began to chase a small, skittering creature across the forest floor, practicing honing his hunting instincts even at such an early age. Her confidence grew. The pack was strong and, more importantly, had a future.

The first thumping beat reverberated in her eardrums, and her body went rigid. The Alpha rose to her feet. Like a panicked heartbeat, the heavy sound echoed through the air, low and quiet at first, but increasing in volume steadily. The others had noticed it too and were now up and alert. The sentry barked a warning from her post. The Alpha's head darted around as she tried to pinpoint the source of the noise. It was a sound that she had only ever heard a handful of times from a long way off. But this beating chorus was drawing closer. A buzzing moan began to accompany the rapid thumping. She issued a shrill bark to the hatchlings. Gazing around them with uncertainty, they snapped to attention and quickly scrambled across the clearing and took shelter under her larger frame. The juveniles huddled nearby fearfully. But as she glanced at one of the adolescents, she noticed that it panted and looked around in panic. It was the female juvenile, and it had always been the more headstrong and boisterous of the two, displaying characteristics of a more dominant individual. But now it oozed a sense of stark dread more acute than any of the rest of them. As it began to step back into the dense foliage of the tree line, the Alpha concluded that the adolescent knew something about the source of the sound that they did not; and that notion filled her with a sense of unease threatening to match the obvious terror that gripped the younger creature.

Raising her head, the Alpha let out a quick succession of hissing barks, in order to be heard over the rising, beating drone. It was a simple command to hide. The pack reacted instantly, bolting for the more substantial cover of the thicket. Dipping her head, she nudged the hatchlings towards the cover of a low-hanging cycad nearby. They scampered on tiny legs into the embrace of the plant and the ferns behind it, quickly followed by the Alpha. She turned back to the clearing and bent down over her huddled offspring, spreading her claws outwards so that her brood was covered totally. Peering out from the cover of the fronds of vegetation, she tried to spot the source of the infernal noise. It was only as the roar of the unseen threat washed over the clearing did she look up.

Two sleek, black shapes shot through the sky above the canopy. She only caught glimpses of them through the branches and leaves as they passed, but they certainly were not the long-beaked creatures that ruled the skies. The never-ending roar sparked a memory in her mind; an encounter in a past life that had resulted in a death that she could not fully rationalize. She crouched lower, shielding her huddled hatchlings even more, dread gripping her tightly now. A theory as to the nature of the flying creatures gave her understanding as to why the petrified Juvenile had displayed such fear.

She didn't dare to leave her hiding spot as she heard the roar of the beasts change tone. Rather than continuing on their flight path, the creatures had turned and were looping back around. She could occasionally spot them through the holes in the canopy. They were circling the wider area like the scavengers that picked the carcasses other hunter's kills clean. She was certain that there would be no way that they could see her or the pack. She knew of others like these creatures, or at least the beings that the roaring creatures carried. They had dull senses. But they were dangerous, and before that point she had no idea that they could fly. As long as they stayed hidden, she knew that they would be safe. They were masters of their environment, and the things above would surely not dare venture into their domain. If they did, she would be ready. They would not get the chance to kill her. They would certainly not touch her brood. Naivety had been the cause of agony and death in the past when encountering these creatures, but she did not make it a habit to repeat mistakes.

The volume of the aerial roar changed once again as one of the creatures broke away from its circling maneuver and headed in a straight line towards the clearing. Within seconds it closed the distance. She huddled into her offspring, defensively putting as much of herself between them and the creatures overhead as possible.

They couldn't see her and the pack, surely? Her head darted around. No; the others were just as concealed as she was. She wondered if they could smell the carcass. She had believed that these creatures had a very poor sense of smell. But nevertheless, the beast headed directly towards them over the trees. She tensed her legs and brought her arms in, ready to shield her young and to leap to their defense. Her maternal instincts went into overdrive. She was ready to fight; any thoughts of self-preservation now totally overshadowed by her ingrained need to ensure the survival of her offspring. She inhaled, braced for whatever came next. A feral rage boiled inside of her, ready to erupt. She was ready.

The beast roared as it passed over the clearing, soaring away high above her hiding place. For the briefest of moments, she relaxed ever so slightly as the danger seemed to subside. Then she heard the whistle. Looking up to the canopy clearing, she had just enough time to register the large, pointed object that shot through the covering of foliage and into their refuge before chaos erupted.

The concussive shockwave, blinding flash and blast of searing heat hit her all at once. She was propelled off of her feet back through the air, the air within her lungs expelled rapidly from the force of the explosion. Before she collided with a tree trunk, a splattering of liquid fire washed over her, sticking to her skin instantly. Snapping against the tree trunk in a glancing impact, she spun wildly for a moment before colliding with the forest floor, rolling over roots and ferns as the woods around her were set alight. Before her momentum had ceased she began howling and flailing wildly, kicking up burning plant matter and muck as the fiery substance seared her flesh. She rolled frantically, desperately trying to rid herself of the agonizing assault on her skin. Her mind was a blur as her ingrained terror of fire willed her body to do nothing else but escape the blaze melting her tissue. Within seconds, she had thrashed so much that she had dug out a furrow in the forest floor. She bit at her own skin as she rolled, tearing off chunks of fire coated flesh in a maddened attempt to be free of the burning, an act which sent searing pain up through her nostrils and into her gums. The last globs of flaming ooze were smothered in the freshly uncovered earth, and she eventually stopped rolling and lay still, panting and trembling from shock, fear and pain. Her skin had blistered and burned away in several places, leaving exposed muscle tissue from where she had ripped away her own dermal layer to be rid of the burning assault.

The wounds smoked and sizzled. Her mind was paralyzed with a sense numbing agony. She stared with one eye at the canopy above, now set ablaze. Through the fire and choking smoke, she spotted one of the black shapes that had incinerated the area pass over, its drone audible over the crackling roar of the inferno. It was at that point an instinct burst free of its unconscious state in her mind.

The hatchlings.

Legs lashing out, she erupted from her state of torpor in an instant and scrambled to her feet. She darted her head around, trying to spot any sign of her brood. It was an impossible task as the entire clearing and thicket was burning in a brilliant, raging blaze. She raised her head and let out a rasping bark, listening for the response of her offspring. She heard the distinctive bark of her mate in response, quickly followed by a sound off from the female sentry. But she heard nothing of her young. She bolted into a sprint, navigating the burning vegetation as nimbly as her damaged body could. Through the smoke and flames she spotted the blazing ribs of the carcass they had been feasting upon before, the remaining flesh on the dead beast now all but melted away. The entire clearing had been engulfed in a white-hot inferno. Trees cracked and fell in a rain of smoking splinters. Jet black smoke billowed upwards into the sky, which now all but blotted out from view. She went to run into the clearing when a jolt of searing pain on her feet caused her to recoil rapidly. The forest floor in and around the clearing had been bathed in liquid flame. Looking at the blazing patch in front of her, she noticed the burning cycad just to her left. Drawing her eyes frantically to the forest floor, she could make out a small detail in the pool of flames.  
A feeling that the Alpha had never felt before crawled through her ruined skin. It was an alien sensation to her, and her legs threatened to give out from under her, both from the immense pain the fire had caused her and from the sickening feeling engulfing her. In a patch of scorching earth, she could see tiny bones, still covered in a few searing patches of flesh. They were scattered, blasted apart and melted from the explosion. But she distinctly made out two distinct skulls of tiny versions of herself, charred black and breaking apart in the inferno.

The incessant sound of the aerial killers could be heard overhead. She drew her gaze to the blackened and blazing ceiling of the forest. Her brain had evolved to operate in an efficient manner that made use of compartmentalisation. She was intelligent; capable of feeling a variety of emotions. But rather than store emotions, her mind converted them. It was a subconscious survival mechanism designed to make use of even the most traumatic mental stresses. The grief that had flooded through her body moments beforehand quickly rotted and boiled into something much more feral; rage. An enemy had presented itself and had taken away her offspring. It now posed a threat to her and the remainder of her pack. Her survival instincts returned to her in a flood, sharper than ever. She raised her head and let loose a quick succession of growling barks. It was a simple command; retreat. But even as she turned away from the remains of her two hatchlings, a plan far more sophisticated than the creatures above could imagine her capable of conjuring, was forming. With a mighty burst of speed powered by her burnt, pained legs, the Alpha disappeared into the incinerating forest, a fire inside of her burning as intensely as the world around her.

**This is my second fanfic focused on the **_The Isle. _**I plan on writing several stories based around the game, with some delving into its largely enigmatic**** lore (as of yet). For now, this is a more focused story that will not look too much into the actual universe of the game. **_The Isle_ **and all of its properties ****belongs to its respective owners and I highly recommend that you go play the game, which is currently being developed by a dedicated and extremely talented team of people. **


	2. Chapter 2

**The Isle: Wrath**

**Part Two**

To Michael Silva, walking through the scene before him felt like stamping upon a funeral pyre. An area of forest as large as the deck of a freighter had been cremated, with the blackened, halved trunks of trees and ash being all that remained of the clearing they had just levelled. It had been the first napalm bombing he had ever experienced, even before being indoctrinated into Apollo Engineering's private security firm; Southpaw. It hadn't taken him long to reach his rank as a field operative. Working with the DEA in Central America had allowed him to develop a wide skillset suited to hostile, overgrown environments. But even after enduring the multitude of horrors presented to him through seven years of service, nothing could have truly prepared him for what awaited him on these islands.

Not for the first time since accepting the enigmatic job on the infinitely more mysterious archipelago, Silva found himself struggling to hide his shock. He and his four team mates scoured the incinerated foliage for signs of the pack of Utahraptors they just bombed, a difficult task when most organic matter in the blast radius had been reduced to dust. They had spotted the predators through the canopy on the thermal camera mounted to the underside of the Blackhawk helicopter grounded nearby.

The other helicopter now followed those animals that escaped the blast in the far distance, its rotors now barely audible. It was believed that at least three adults survived the attack. He and his squad were to confirm that estimate if possible.

"Place is a fucking ashtray. How the hell are we supposed to make a positive ID here?" asked William Dunne, just a few yards to Silva's right.

Turning to his squad mate, continuing to scan the ground for signs of their targets, Michael struggled to find a solution. Everything around them had been reduced to cinders.

"Vacuum cleaner?" he suggested, looking up and smirking at Dunne, trying to mash his shock.

"Kip's sister'll do the trick then," responded Dunne, looking over to a silhouette ahead of him and smiling.

The back handed middle-finger from the man called Kip was all the response the long-haired man gave. They continued to scout the ruin. He then spotted a blackened rib-cage jutting out of the devastation.

"Got one here; juvy by the looks of it," Silva called out.

It was almost impossible to tell, but the scant rib bones and claws partially buried in ash were not big enough to have belonged to an adult Utahraptor.

"Yeah, got another here," called out Jana Spiridon from their right, in an accent that sported more than a hint of her Serbian descent.

"Any word from the flyboys on the runners?" asked Dunne.

"Still just three adults. They're moving towards the canyons at a good pace," she responded.

"Fucking things are going to corner themselves," smirked Dunne, "And they're not going to be able to put up much of a fight if they're already injured,"

It was then that Kip McKinnon called out from up ahead.

"Which begs the question why we should even bother our asses going after them. They won't last the damn night," he said as he upturned a charred log with his boot.

"Got somewhere to be, Kip?" asked Silva.

"Not here when the sun goes down," he responded.

"Last I checked, you're on patrol shift tonight," continued Silva.

"Aw, keeping tabs on me now, are ya? Dunne'll be getting jealous," he responded with the hiss of a snicker.

"Dunne's gonna clock you on the back of the head in a second," William warned.

"He's got a point though. If their wounds don't finish them, something bigger will," Jana pointed out, wiping away some ash that had blown onto her MP7.

Just a few yards to his left, Silva spotted his commanding officer, hunkered down with her back turned to him, picking up something from the ruin. Ash blew in the light breeze as it cascaded from the small object, making it look as if the officer was blowing smoke. Steadily rising to full height, Captain Bauer turned to him. She was a 6'2ft blade of a woman. Her bare arms sported scarred skin pulled tight over taught muscles. Her face bore a similar visage.

Holding her AA-12 shotgun in her other hand, she raised the scorched object up so that Silva could see it clearly. It was the tiny, blackened skull of a Utahraptor hatchling. She never took her eyes off of it.

"Do you know what the biggest mistake you can make on a hunt is?" she asked aloud in a heavy German accent.

The other members of the squadron, designated Hatchet, paused their investigations and turned to their commanding officer. They each had an inkling as to the nature of the answer. But Bauer was not in the habit of asking arbitrary questions; not when she expected an answer. Silva knew instantly that this was a lesson, not a dialogue.

"The first time my father took me out hunting boar, I was only nine," she continued

"I hadn't a single clue as to what to look out for, or what to smell. I didn't know where to aim on the animal. I hadn't even seen a fucking boar up close. It didn't matter because my father just wanted me to experience it, to stand by and watch, and to learn. I saw how he picked up traces of the animals, followed game trails and scouted ideal points for an ambush. I had no idea at the time, but he did it all perfectly," she said, her squad now keenly following her every syllable.

"We lay there, prone in the cover of the brush until one of the pigs eventually strayed into the open, not two dozen yards away. I saw him shift his aim and just wait. It was only then, when I actually saw the thing, did I think to myself that I didn't want to see this fucking pig die. I went to tug his arm, and the gun went off. The shot went wide and hit the things flank, and within a second it was gone. Needless to say, at first he went berserk. I wailed and cried, and after the heat of the moment died down his face softened, and he put his arm around me and said "It's ok. Not today then, child,"," she said.

Kip sighed and scratched his head, sending a small cloud of ash up from his ruffled blonde hair, before moving off towards the edge of the destruction. Dunne hoisted his FN-SCAR rifle over his shoulders, smirking at the Captain as he rested his hands on the weapon jutting across the back of his neck.

"Lesson learned; little Bauer was a bit of a whiny bitch," he chided, his voice filled with harmless banter.

Bauer was more than accustomed to handling and participating in the antics of the team. But she locked her dark eyes onto him, returning none of the humor sent her way.

"The next day, I woke to the sound of my father screaming outside. I rushed out to see him flailing as he was dragged across the mud by the fence, pulled along by a boar that had stabbed one of its tusks right through his leg. That feeling in your gut, the one that makes you think you're about to spit out your stomach and pass out, left me standing there like an idiot. Had it not been for my mother rushing past me to empty two rounds of buckshot into the animals back, it would have dragged my father until his leg tore clean off. Of course, it was only after an ambulance, a blood transfusion, a sleepless night and an all clear did we actually manage to get a look at the pig's corpse. We found a pretty fresh entry wound in its left flank, with a malformed rifle round buried in the hide,"

The smile had died upon Dunne's face. He abandoned his relaxed stance and took proper hold of his weapon, standing straight as the lecture reached its conclusion.

"My father's only mistake had been not slapping me in the face, tracking the pig and finishing the fucking job. We're not dealing with dirt-eating boars here, and not only are these things wounded…" she chastised as she held the skull up to Dunne, "… but we just killed their fucking babies,"

She looked around to her gathered squad.

"That's why we put these things down now, before they rip a patrol or outpost apart," she concluded

Silva dipped his head. They all knew that she was right. He had seen the aftermath of Utahraptor attacks before. Suddenly, a garbled cry the likes of which he had never heard before echoed throughout the clearing.

"Fucking hell! Ha!" Kip shouted.

They all whipped around to where the long-haired man recoiled from a large shape on the ground, raising his rifle at the convulsing thing. Within a second, they each had their weapons trained on the shape, partially submerged in ash, as they rushed forward and spread out around the thing. Through the falling plume of grey that had been dispersed into the air, Silva finally caught sight of the strange creature, and it nearly turned his stomach.

A Utahraptor shivered and snapped at the air, but it was no threat to them. Its entire body had been seared to the point where it was barely recognizable as an animal. Its back half was all but gone; only a few blackened strips of flesh clung to cracked and snapped bones. Most of its skin had been incinerated, cooked organs visible beneath charred bones and muscles. The limbs were now indistinguishable from the charred vegetation around it. Its head was a mess of blistered tissue and muscle, its eyes having melted in the inferno. Its ruined jaws jittered and emitted a warbling hiss, the only sound it could make.

The horrific sight conjured up memories from Silva's past; charred husks caught within the embrace of stacks of smoldering tyres, a favourite game for the Cartels of Colombia. The heavy, acrid scent of burnt meat filled the air then as it did now. He had become accustomed to the scene; he experienced it too many times not too. But the victims of the premature cremations were thankfully never alive after the deed was done. But Utahraptors were durable animals, with bodies designed to withstand a myriad of traumas. It was this fact that had led them to dominate the mid-range of the food chain on the islands they now called home just as they did millions of years beforehand. And it was this fact that had allowed the abomination before him to exist.

"Mother of God," he whispered.

"Think I found the other adult, boss," Kip giggled as he wiped his brow, panting, "Gave me a damned start, mind!"

"Jesus," Dunne breathed as he unclipped his pistol on his thigh.

"Hang on, don't think it's done cooking yet," Kip joked.

"Are you fucking serious," Jana said to him, incredulous and disgusted.

"Sick jackass," Dunne said as he went to click the safety to 'Off'.

Silva tore his eyes away from the convulsing wretch to look the smiling face of McKinnon. They all knew what kind of a man he was; a sadist who didn't give a damn what cruelty had to be employed to deal with any problem animals. They all knew what had to be done. It was their job to kill dinosaurs. And if any of them said that they didn't enjoy the hunt, they would be lying. But Kip had repeatedly shown that he didn't just enjoy killing the animals; he had developed a taste for making them suffer. Given the stories he had heard about Kip's life bouncing between Special Forces units and homegrown bike gangs, he guessed that it was not a recent development either.

But before any argument could break out, the deafening crack of a gunshot rang across the devastated clearing. Michael nearly strained himself whipping his head back to the grizzly scene to see Bauer holding a pistol over the mangled Dromaeosaur, which now lay still. The shell casing landed softy in the earth, sinking instantly into the layer of ash. After a moment, she holstered the pistol and looked to her squad.

"That's all missing animals accounted for. Get back to the helicopter. We're taking over the pursuit," she ordered.

They only hesitated for a moment. It was not the first time that they had experienced the ruthlessness of the captain, and they each knew that it would not be the last that day.

"Sure thing, boss," Silva quietly said before turning and trotting towards the grounded chopper, with Dunne and Jana following quickly.

He only looked back for a single moment. But in that he spotted Bauer staring at McKinnon, her face oozing contempt. Kip's only response was a shrug before he too followed suit and made his way towards the vehicle.

Silva had undertaken many missions with the crew. They were all invaluable assets in their own way. Dunne was a mid-range specialist, armed with a Remington fitted with an extended magazine tube, and Jana their communications expert. Kip was an excellent engineer and survivalist, and Silva himself was an experienced tracker. The Captain held the whole outfit together. Their effectiveness at staying alive and getting the job done while working together allowed them to function as a tightly knit unit. But in the case of McKinnon, Silva wanted that to be as far as their relationship went.

…

The tinny voice of the pilot, James Currie, came alive in his ears.

"We'll be passing our boys soon. Give 'em a wave,"

Silva looked out the door window of the helicopter. Within seconds he saw the dark, sleek shape of the other Blackhawk pass over the green forest. Running low on fuel, the other team were heading back to Emathia base to recoup. It didn't worry him. The Utahraptors had just put themselves into a bottleneck within the towering walls of the canyon that loomed ahead.

"Alright Currie, take us in steadily," commanded Bauer from her seat just behind the cockpit.

Like the vertical jaws of some unfathomably immense monster, the huge granite and limestone cliffs engulfed them on either side. Currie had slowed the speed of the vehicle considerably, allowing him to gain more control over its maneuverability. Strewn with outcrops of vegetation, the immense cliffs towered over them as they entered the canyon. But the pathway was wide enough to allow them to move relatively comfortably in the air.

Like a winding river, they followed the passage through several bends and turns, causing flocks of birds to rise into the air from the escarpments and trees dotted along the canyon walls. Within the hull of the aircraft, Hatchet squad sat ready and waiting to come upon their prey. Dunne, who wasn't the biggest fan of this kind of flying, busied himself checking over his shotgun. Jana chewed on a protein bar, and McKinnon looked out the door window by his seat. They sat on the rack of seats just ahead of Silva. He was positioned facing towards a side port in the helicopter behind the rest; a prime gunners seat. To his right, propped vertically on its swiveling, telescopic mount was an M60-E4 machine gun, the silver feeder belt for the ammunition trailing from the weapon into a large drum.

Being back in the familiar position caused the shock of the devastation from earlier to evaporate. He had undertaken many missions in a gunner's seat, both before and after being recruited by Southpaw. From Cartel compounds to the open plains of Island 3, he had been given a front-row seat to many skirmishes, be it with drug runners, or the herds of herbivores that occasionally needed culling.

"Got 'em on the thermal. Three of the bastards gunning down the choke, let me get alongside," spoke Currie in his ear.

"Silva, get that M60 ready. You know the routine; controlled bursts, one target at a time," ordered Bauer over the mic.

"Aye, Boss. Fried or slow-roasted?" he asked with a smile, unfixing the lock on the swivel next to him.

"Just kill them and slap them on the table, nothing fancy," she returned, her husky voice showing little signs of the humour she intended.

Grasping the grip, he pulled the gun down into a horizontal position and maneuvered it so that the barrel stuck put through the port. Attached underneath to the extendable arm fitted to the hull of the aircraft, the gun nearly felt weightless. He pressed his shoulder into the stock and brought his face up to the sights mounted on the top rail of the weapon. He felt his stomach drop slightly as the helicopter lowered itself towards the forest. Currie levelled out the aircraft and pulled the joystick slightly to the left, bringing the Blackhawk closer to the canyon wall next to them. Dunne shifted uncomfortably in his seat at the sight of the approaching rock through his window. But the maneuver gave Silva a much better overview of the swampy woods passing underneath.

"First one's coming up, other side of the water," Currie called out.

Scanning the muddy bank in the distance for a few moments, Silva eventually spotted a dark shape keeping pace with the chopper, dashing between the fronds of dense vegetation. Pulling back the priming handle and switching the safety to off, he concentrated on getting a steady bead on the Utahraptor. The speed the animals could reach never failed to astonish him, nor did the skill they showed in moving quickly through difficult terrain. Now clear in his sights, the dinosaur ducked and weaved through the vines and over the roots of the forest floor. It was at this moment that the size and power of the animal struck him, even at the distance he was at. He had killed a few Utahraptors in his time on the islands, but they had never gotten a chance to get close. He intended to keep it that way.

To try and snipe out the animal would be a nightmare. But the incendiary rounds of the machine gun would be able to down the thing in a couple of hits. He waited, taking a deep breath before the animal ceased from its weaving motions to bolt in a straight line just long enough to guarantee a straight shot. He pressed his finger onto the trigger.

With several loud bursts, the weapon kicked into his shoulder as searing bullets tore through the air and the vegetation on the riverside milliseconds later. A few rounds puckered the forest floor and tree trunks around the sprinting dinosaur, but the last of the volley struck the animals flank and hip. Silva did not hear the agonized howl of the Utahraptor as the molten metal pierced its flesh, but he saw it disappear from its sights in a flailing roll that tore up the mud around it.

"Ayyy, a hole in fucken' one!" called out McKinnon, slapping his lap as he watched the spectacle from his window.

"Good shot, Ace. Currie, get us by the other two," Bauer commanded over the radio.

"Sure, Boss, but we're gonna' round a bend in a few seconds," the pilot responded, keeping his eyes on the approaching wall of rock that signified a sharp turn to the left.

The helicopter increased its speed momentarily, allowing the other two Utahraptors to come into sight ahead. Silva swiveled the M60 towards his targets. One was bolting through the canopy beneath them, but the other was fleeing on the other side of the river. Steadying his aim and glaring through the glass sight, he managed to get a bead on the animal through the foliage. For a moment, he thought that this Utahraptor had a particularly unusual skin pattern, before the rays of sunlight between the trees revealed that it was in fact dotted with grievous wounds and blackened patches of hide.

The sight took him off guard for a moment. The animal had obviously not escaped unscathed from the single napalm bomb they had dropped on it and its pack. But he was impressed at how vigorously the animal was moving after such trauma. And he knew that it was watching the helicopter as intently as he was watching it. It wasn't the first time since arriving on the island that he felt a pang of awe and respect for a dinosaur. They were inconceivably tough creatures; built for dominion over their environment. But they were still aberrations that would not be alive if it weren't for Apollo Engineering. He was not sure how they brought them back, but it didn't matter to him. He was just paid to kill them.

In his moment of hesitation, the Utahraptor suddenly twisted and bolted across a rocky part of the river, sending spurts of misty water into the air as it cleared the width of the river in seconds.

"It's going for the turn, hang on," warned Currie.

The helicopter lurched to the left as it slowed and made a sharp turn with the canyon, pulling into another straight run. Silva instinctively gripped the seat with one hand as the helicopter went on its side.

"Oh fuck," Dunne exclaimed quietly as he grasped the railing overhead.

"Hold it down, Jackass," Said McKinnon with a laugh.

"Please do, or you're walking home," added Jana, squinting at the prospect of a torrent of bile escaping Dunne.

The helicopter levelled and Silva immediately repositioned himself and took aim out of the opening again.

"Take the shot, Silva," said Bauer, masking her annoyance at the hesitation beforehand.

For a quick moment he had to scan the passing landscape below, trying to reacquire his target. Then, the mangled hide of the larger Dromaeosaur materialized in his sights by the riverbank, just at the edge of his swiveling range. Bolstered by frustration at himself and the order from his captain, Silva instinctively pressed the trigger and let loose several booming rounds from the M60. The fiery projectiles peppered the canopy below, but missed the target.

"Holy Fuck!" Currie shouted into the mic, startling everyone in the chopper.

"James, what the-" exclaimed Bauer, but she stopped mid-sentence when she looked ahead out of the cockpit window.

For the first second only those who could see out of the front of the vehicle saw the shapes. Shooting into the air from the cliffs ahead was a flock of aerial creatures, but they were far larger than any of the animals they had been scaring into flight since entering the canyons. Leathery-winged Pterosaurs, with wingspans exceeding ten feet, screeched and leapt into the air in panic from the sudden appearance of the Blackhawk and gunshots; right into their flight path. Silva saw the shapes of the rising wall of flesh begin to surround them when his stomach dropped.

"Jesus fucking Christ!" Dunne shouted as he grabbed onto his seat.

The faces of Jana and Kip were suddenly washed pale as their eyes went wide and they instinctively grabbed the support bars of their seats.

"Get out of-" Bauer began.

With a shuddering impact that reverberated through the hull and doubled each of them over, one of the Pterosaurs crashed into the nose of the helicopter. Glass shattered inward and the world inside the vehicle flipped as the chopper twisted mid-air. Scraping thuds sounded off all around Michael Silva as he was thrown about in his seat, generated as the flock collided with the wildly swinging Blackhawk. Rending metal, roars from the tortured engine, primal squawks and screams filled the interior of the chopper. The swirling view of the outside was cut off in an immense splash of dark red across the remaining windows.

The long head of one of the Pterosaurs punched through the door beside Dunne. Its large bill wedged into the bars of the railing above Dunne, Jana and Kip. With a screech of rending metal, the creature fell away, taking the door and several support bars and chains with it. Dunne's seat was torn free and he flew into the air, screaming and reaching out, grabbing a section of twisted metal where the animal had struck just before he could be pulled out of the opening. But the maelstrom of g-forces pulled him and the bars of the seat with an overwhelming strength. For a brief, sickening moment, in the midst of being thrown like a rat in a terrier's mouth, Silva locked onto the wide-eyed face of Dunne. Before the man could scream again, his grip slipped and he disappeared into the wind. Michael screamed. For another moment the world around him spun as if caught in a tornado. The tail of the Blackhawk then connected with the first tree.

The impact caused Silva to smack his head against the bars of the seat, sending a flash of nauseating stars through his vision. The vehicle bucked and twisted, the metal around bending and caving it as if crushed in the jaws of an immense beast. Foliage, splinters of wood and showers of dirt shot through the shattered windows and ruined hull, before the door on the other side of the chopper crashed inward with an immense impact. The twists and turns suddenly ceased, and instead the chaos reached its climax as the wreck slowly rolled over, the mangled rotor spinning into the earth briefly before stopping with an ear-shattering crack and moan, sending a torrent of upturned soil skywards.

Before he lost consciousness, Silva saw the sky out of the ragged wound in the side of the Blackhawk. It rolled past, filled with large winged silhouettes, as the forest floor suddenly became the roof with a final crashing boom. As stillness finally returned to his world and blood began rushing to his head, it all went black for Silva.

_**The Isle**_** and all of its properties belong to the developers of this awesome game (Cover art included). This is simply a story based on what is known of the in-game universe and setting. Also, to those who have given me feedback on the story so far, thank you sincerely. It really does help me out a lot, and I'm delighted to know that you are enjoying the story! **


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